


All the Nice Girls Love A Soldier

by AnneElliot



Category: Shakespeare - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coriolanus - Freeform, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Shakespeare, ralph fiennes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneElliot/pseuds/AnneElliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to trigger John Watson's dream in His Last Vow</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Nice Girls Love A Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astudyinrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinrose/gifts).



> This is response to astudyinrose asking for "If someone wrote a fic in which John is thinking of Sherlock while he has sex with Mary or accidentally says Sherlock’s name as he climaxes"
> 
> Special thanks to the ariane DeVere for posting transcripts at http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/tag/sherlock%20episode%20transcript

Shakespeare’s supposed to be good for you, right?  Everyone says so.  John had never been much of a fan but of course he knows the basics.  So when Mary picked Coriolanus starring Ralph Fiennes for movie night, he was expecting a lazy cuddle on the couch.  Maybe he’d be able to distract her with a shag before he actually had to sit through the whole thing.

 When Ralph Fiennes appeared with his machine gun in a small desert town, John’s adrenaline spiked.  He hadn’t had a flashback dream since he and Mary had moved in together, but his muscle memory immediately reminded him of what war was really like.  He could almost smell the gunpowder, blood, and fear.  He froze. Should he ask her to turn it off?  No, dammit, I’m a soldier, I can do this!  Almost against his will, he was drawn into the story. Shakespeare seemed to read his mind.  Coriolanus trying to fit into the civilian world was an uncomfortable reminder of his life before Sherlock.  If it hadn’t been for Sherlock, that bastard, who knows what John Watson might have done. 

 He almost jumped when Mary leaned into him and whispered in his ear, “Would you betray Rome for me?  Want me to get on my knees and ask nicely?”  Mary.  Of course, Mary had saved his sanity.  Everyone knew that.

 He smiled and pulled her closer.  “You could talk me into anything, you know.  Or is it Ralph you want?”

 Mary grinned, “All the nice girls like a soldier.  And you’re _my_ soldier.”

 John heard another voice, deeper, baritone, “Uniform fetishist. All the nice girls like a soldier.”  To drown it out, he jumped to his feet, pulling Mary with him.  In a sudden move, he swept her off her feet and headed for the bedroom.  “If I’m your soldier,” he growled, “I’m going to conquer.”  Her squeals of laughter almost drowned out the voice in his head.  But as they made love, other images kept invading his mind.  The look on Sherlock’s face when he said, “Major, please. I’m John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital. (Firmly) Let me examine this body.” 

A deep voice, “And you invaded Afghanistan.”

 Corporal Lyons saying, “It’s just we don’t get inspected here, you see, sir. It just doesn’t happen” “Ever heard of a spot check?  Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

“Sir. Major Barrymore won’t be pleased, sir. He’ll want to see you both.”

“I’m afraid we won’t have time for that. We’ll need the full tour right away. Carry on. That’s an ORDER, Corporal.”

Yes, SIR.” 

 This should not be a sexy memory. But the look on Sherlock’s face!

 John buried himself in Mary, inhaling her scent, feeling her softness.  But their rhythm seemed to match the beat of “All the nice girls like a soldier, All the nice girls like a soldier, ALL the nice girls like a soldier,” in that baritone voice.

 When Mary cried, “My soldier” and came, John felt like he was hearing an echo.  Despite his best efforts, as he came, “Sherlock” slipped from his lips. Mary stiffened, “What was that?”

 “I sure love you, ma’am,” John blurted in a truly horrible American accent.  “No, no,” she laughed, “You’re my British soldier.”

 “Yes, Ma’am,” John replied.  She laughed again and snuggled in to sleep.  “Love you,” she murmured.

 “Love you, too,” John replied, but it was a long time before he could sleep.  When he did, it seemed he was immediately back in Afghanistan, the blood, the heat, the death, but then, a deep voice again:

“Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?”

“ Enough for a lifetime.”

“ Wanna see some more?”

“ Oh, God, yes.”

 He hears a banging sound and jolts up in bed.  “Sherlock?” he whispers. He can see Sherlock looking intensely at him. “The game is on.”

 The banging comes again.  He wakes up.


End file.
